The Road to Recovery
by confiteor
Summary: Between 6th and 7th year, the Great Battle takes place, leaving Harry emotionally and physically drained. Will Harry return to school? If he does, will there be anything to make him stay? HPDM, lots of angst, self harm. Potentially triggering.
1. Chapter 1

this is my first fanfic, so be nice to me! constructive criticism is always welcome, and encouraged. Lots of mature themes, discretion advised. HP/DM in later chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of JK Rowling's characters. I only wish I did.

Harry woke up on the morning of September 5th earlier than he had woken up all summer. This hadn't been his intention. He had decided that if he had overslept, say, til noon, which wasn't unusual for him these days, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

In fact, he might have been happy never to wake up again. He rubbed the sleep out of his emerald green eyes, and tried to remember where he was. Taking in the saggy mattress, the dingy white sheets, and the carpeting with an uncountable number of stains, he realized he was in a muggle hotel, in the countryside. He had stayed in dozens of hotels since the great battle, trying to evade the swarm of owls carrying letters from Ron and various Weasleys, Hermione, Professor McGonagall, and only one which was in a envelope bearing the St. Mungo's logo, that Harry assumed was from Hagrid. It made him sick to think that Hagrid was in the hospital, along with others. Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Not that, he couldn't think about that. He got up, and went to wash his face, and brush his teeth, and as soon as he was finished, he crawled back into bed, exhausted from the effort. He closed his eyes, and was just drifting off, when he heard a loud rapping on the door. He decided it was probably maid service, and it would be easier to get up and tell them to come back at a reasonable hour than to let them bang on his door incessantly. He opened the door to yell at whatever unsuspecting woman was cleaning today, and froze. Standing in the doorframe was Professor McGonagall.

"Potter," she said, "Harry…we need to talk."

Harry nervously flattened his spiky black hair and said, " There's really nothing to talk about, professor."

"Harry, it's normal to be upset. So much happened that night, no one will ever forget it. You should be proud of what you did!"

"Professor, this isn't really the best time…" Mumbled Harry, trying to come up with any feeble excuse to get her to leave. Professor McGonagall stormed past Harry, into the room, sat in the lone chair and motioned for Harry to have a seat on the bed, which he did, reluctantly.

"Now..." McGonagall said briskly, "why have you not been answering your mail?"

Harry's eyes traveled over to the wastebasket where yesterday's batch of five letters sat, and McGonagall's eyes followed his.

"Harry, I understand how difficult this has been, but you must go back to school. If we hurry, we'll be able to get all your books and supplies, and still make it to the start of term feast."

Harry stood up. " You expect me to go back to school after what happened? To bloody look all those professors, those students, even the fucking caretaker in the eye?" Rage filled his body, and he stood still for a second, digging his fingernails into his hands until he drew blood, trying to gain control of himself, but the rage won, and he picked up the bare bulb lamp on the rickety bedside table and threw it at the wall. "YOU WANT ME TO GO BACK TO THE PLACE WHERE JUST LAST MONTH, I SAW…" He pushed the small table over and kicked a hole in the wall, "I..." And he collapsed on the bed, and covered his face, feeling the ever-familiar tears coming closer.

"I'm so sorry, professor, I didn't mean to…it's just… I can't go back there."

"You have to." Professor McGonagall stated, very calmly for someone who had just seen a hotel room halfway destroyed "because it is your responsibility to the wizarding community-"

Harry cut her off. "I don't owe them anything, because I gave them everything!"

"Let me finish speaking! It was Dumbledore's request." She sighed, and rubbed her temples, "When Dumbledore left you on the Dursley's doorstep, he requested that you finish all your schooling, no matter what. Potter, will you do it, for Dumbledore?"

Harry stood up and walked into the bathroom, grabbing some jeans and a shirt off the floor on the way.

Once inside the bathroom, Harry leaned over the toilet, scared he was going to throw up. He hadn't seen anyone from the battle since the day afterwards, and seeing his transfiguration teacher brought back all the pain and all the things he had done. He stood up, and reached into his night bag, rummaging around for his razor. He found it, and started twisting and pulling it until the blades popped out. Shaking, he picked up one of the blades, and held it to his right wrist. Inhaling slowly, he dragged it across his pale skin and then gradually cut deeper, going up towards the crook of his elbow. Watching the blood flow freely, he slid to the floor, and drifted into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

People, people, people...if you read, review! By reviewing, you let me know that I should keep writing.

Disclaimer: As my parents have so kindly pointed out, as I am a minor with no declarable income living in my parent's home, I own nothingg.

_In a perfect world  
This could never happen  
In a perfect world  
You'd still be here  
And it makes no sense  
I could just pick up the pieces  
But to you  
This means nothing  
Nothing at all._

"Well, shit." Harry thought. The bible was obviously right. Suicide damned you to Hell; why else would he have a Simple Plan song stuck in his head? He cracked open an eye, and was met with dull light. Opening both eyes slowly, he looked around and realized he was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Maybe the bible was wrong. There was actually a fate worse than Hell. Looking over, he saw professor McGonagall, knitting. Harry was incised. He tried to speak:

"So, let me get this right. You tell me to go back to Hogwarts, I respond by trying to off myself. Of course, you then proceed to take me to the one place I would rather be dead than ever see again."

But it came out as a raspy "umhhghhhmgh." Harry's throat was so dry he couldn't form words. How long had he been out? His racket had brought the professor to attention.

"Harry. You're awake." She said, calmly. "Can I get you anything?"

He barely managed to croak out "Water." She obliged, and he greedily drank the water. Testing his voice, he said, as politely as he could manage to, "Professor, I would like to leave as soon as possible."

McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid we cannot allow that."

"You can't keep me here! I'm seventeen! I'm of age!" Harry said, regaining a bit of his impudence.

"By entering Hogwarts as a first year student, you contracted to finish your education. If you leave now, you'll have to give up your wand." She said evenly.

"But Fred and George…"

"Mr. and Mr. Weasley went through an appeals process. It is long, and rigorous, and I guarantee, you would not succeed in permission to leave school and retain your wand." McGonagall cut in, finishing the short lived argument. Harry leaned back into the pillows sulkily.

"We have a psychomagist from St. Mungo's coming in shortly to visit with you." The professor watched Harry for a reaction. Not getting any, she continued. "Based on his preliminary evaluation, we will release you for the second or third day of term." She watched him again.

"What…time is it?" Harry asked, just to break the tense silence.

"About seven pm. You've been asleep for some time. Poppy gave you a potion to replenish blood and give you dreamless sleep. She was quite worried about you."

Harry nodded, silently.

"The rest of the school has just arrived and is going into the sorting. Oh, it's just so dear, the little young ones…" Madame Pomfrey bustled in at that moment, speaking in a whisper, until she noticed Harry was awake. Her tone switched.

"Oh Harry, you're up. How are you feeling?" she cooed, touching his head, taking his pulse, and looking into his eyes, all at once.

"Well, you look fit as anything, although pale and a bit underfed. We'll soon fix that." Picking up his bandaged arm, she examined it. "The bleeding is stopped. Thank goodness." As she was moving about, arranging things and cleaning, a man walked into the room, looking around.

"Is one of you Minerva McGonagall?" he asked the room at large. The professor responded.

"I am. You must be Healer August. Come in. This is Harry." She nodded towards the boy. He sat up a little, working with his instinct to not look weak in front of a stranger.

"Harry. Hello." Healer August said gently, smiling at him warmly. He turned to Madame Pomfrey and the Professor.

"If you would please give Harry and me some time alone?" They both left the room obligingly, smiling reassuringly at Harry.

"Hello Harry. I'm James August. I'm a psychomagist from St. Mungo's. I specialize in adolescents, and I would like to help you." The man sat down beside Harry's bed, never looking away from him.

Harry studied his face closely. August was closer to middle age than youth, with graying hair, dusty blue eyes, and a kindly, weathered expression. He looked intelligent and trustworthy, Harry noted. Then again, he thought bitterly, had he ever really been able to trust anybody?

"So, Harry, how are you?" The Healer asked gently.

"Fine." Harry replied neutrally.

"How are you feeling?" August said, patiently, putting all him emphasis on the last word, and looking at Harry with an all-knowing expression. Harry suddenly found a lump in his throat. No one had ever asked him, really asked him how he was, wanting and expecting the full answer. Not trusting himself to speak, he shrugged, looking away.

"I would really like to help you." August said softly, leaning in towards Harry. "But first you're going to have to want to be helped. Do you want help?"

The tears were held back no more. Harry let the burning liquid leave his eyes. Hanging his head, he considered the many conflicting thoughts running through his head.

"_I don't need help."(Yes, yes you do. You can't do this alone…)_

"_I'm beyond help."(At least try, maybe you aren't. Maybe you're wrong...)_

"_No one will ever understand what I've been through."(They were all there for the war too; they saw what you saw…)_

"_But not all of it! Besides, they shouldn't have to; it's my burden to bear."_

"_What if even he, a professional, thinks I'm hopeless? What if he gives up on me?"(He obviously doesn't think you're hopeless. He wants to help you. Besides, if he really thought you were hopeless, would he have come in the first place? After all, everyone knows everything about your life. You're a goddamned media god…)_

However, these thoughts were not what came out of his mouth. In a whisper, so subdued the Healer had to lip-read, the boy who lived said,

"Yes."

And that's it, the 2nd chapter, the LAST chapter if you dont get off your ass and REVIEW! The lyrics are "Perfect World" by,duh, Simple Plan. I hope you liked reading it as much as it liked being read.

To my AWESOME (read: only) reviewers, **Maggie M, **and **Harry's Love Slave,** I say, thanks, and be patient. The wizard on wizard is soon to follow!


	3. Chapter 3

Harry wiped the tears from his eyes and looked straight at August. How bad could this be, he wondered. Talking to someone, someone who might be able to help him get what was in his head out into the open, maybe even make it go away.

He thought back to his one interaction with a therapist before. Aunt Petunia had taken Dudley to a psychologist after the game system he wanted for his 13th birthday had been sold out and he'd had a hysterical meltdown. Harry remembered sitting in the waiting room, flipping through the pamphlets on the wall. "Is Your Child Depressed?" "Helping Your Adolescent Through Grief". Harry had snorted with laughter, thinking he was the one who needed this, not Dudley. The doctor had walked into the waiting room and walked right up to Harry. Aunt Petunia almost screamed with frustration, how had he assumed Harry was the one who needed help when poor Dudley obviously was suffering in extreme emotional pain?

"Harry?"

Harry abruptly returned to reality as Healer August softly spoke his name.

"Yes…" harry repeated. "Yes, I'll accept your help, but not here. I refuse to stay in this hellhole any longer." He thought about the consequences of leaving Hogwarts, having his wand broken, and decided to press the issue a little further. "I refuse to stay in this…place."

"That's fine." Healer August stated calmly.

Harry looked at him in shock. No battle? No talk of wand breaking or schooling or contracts or expectations?

"Yes, that's fine. I can call over to St. Mungos and have a bed for you in an hour. It will be a nice, quiet environment. You'll be confined to the ward, of course, and attend therapy during the day when you aren't under observation. I'll have a bag packed for you, of course you wont need too much as you'll be in a sleeveless gown at all times, to make the routine body searches easier. There will probably be ten or twelve other people there, and I'm sure you'll get along wonderfully. There's a man there right now who took too many drugs and thinks he's a teapot. Nice guy, really likes to whistle…he's been there for a few months now, pretty average stay."

"Okay, Okay, I get it!" Harry didn't want to stay at Hogwarts, but he most certainly didn't want to be subjected to random body searches.

"So can I assume that you would like to work on your recovery with me, on an outpatient basis?"

Recovery. Harry was overwhelmed. Hearing that word made it official: he was sick. There was also a glimmer of hope, though. The healer sounded so sure of himself; so sure that recovery was the only option. Harry, though, wasn't so sure.

"Sure…" Harry said, making sure to maintain some venom in his voice. He wanted it, this recovery August spoke of, but he wasn't going to let him know that. Harry never let anyone know what he wanted. It was less of a letdown that way when he didn't get it.

"Alright, well I have a form for you to fill out, just some basic information for your file." Healer August handed him a piece of parchment and a quill. "I'm just going to go talk to Minerva and Poppy, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

He walked out of the room, into the sitting area where Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey were waiting anxiously.

"Well?" Professor McGonagall asked. Her brow was furrowed deeply.

"He appears extremely depressed, and not thrilled about being here, but he's agreed to stay for the time being." Healer August put a hand on the professor's shoulder. "You couldn't have done anything else, Minerva. It's not unexpected, after everything he's been through, and I doubt we even know the half of it."

Professor McGonagall winced. "He's so pale and thin. It looks like he hasn't eaten in weeks. And his arms…I've never seen anything like it."

August nodded grimly. "I haven't seen the damage yet, but judging from the report you sent, it sounded extensive. I'm having him fill out an intake form, hopefully it will give us a jumping off point."

In the infirmary, Harry looked at the form. The words swam before his eyes; he was exhausted and emotionally charged. Picking up the quill, he began writing.

**Name: **Harry James Potter

**Birthday: **07/31/80

**Age: **16

**Height: **71 cm

**Weight: **55 kg

Easy enough, he thought. He looked at the next set of questions. He thought about lying, but decided he might as well tell the whole sordid truth. After all, he'd come this far.

**Do you take any medication? List. **No.

**Do you take any illicit drugs? List. **Marijuana, Cocaine

**Do you drink alcohol? **Yes.

**Do you smoke cigarettes? **Yes.

**How many meals a day do you consume? **1

**Do you exercise? How much? **No

**How many hours of sleep do you get a night? **3-4

Harry wondered if he would get in trouble for admitting that he had taken to using muggle drugs. No turning back now, though.

**On a scale of 1-10…**

**How often do you feel depressed? **10

**How often do you feel hopeless? **10

**How often do you think of suicide? **10

**How often do you feel anxious? **10

**How often do you think of hurting yourself? **10

**Why do you think you were referred to MMHM (Magical Mental Health Ministry)? **

I tried to kill myself.

Harry put down the quill at the very second healer August walked in the door. Harry mutely handed him the questionnaire. August looked over it, his expression remaining unreadable. He sat back down in the chair beside the bed.

"It sounds like you're pretty unhappy, Harry." August said, quietly. It was not a tone of judgment, or an accusation. It was simply a statement. Instantly, Harry felt his icy exterior melt. No one had ever acknowledged that before. He felt a lump in his throat, and didn't trust himself to say anything, so he simply nodded.

"We're going to help you as much as we can, but you're going to have to help yourself too."

Harry nodded again.

"Okay. Well, here's how this works. Off the third floor landing, there is a wing reserved for students who need our help. There is a separate dormitory, a common room in which we hold groups, a classroom, and of course, my office and living quarters. There are rules that I expect you to follow. There won't be anything you could use to hurt yourself, and when you first move in, you'll be supervised constantly by student psychomagists. As you get more stable and make more progress in your recovery, you'll get more privileges, like walks on the ground and being less monitored. I will, of course, be on call at all times. While you're still suicidal and medically unsafe, you'll complete your coursework in the private classroom. When you're ready you'll start going back to classes, one at a time. We'll meet every day individually for our sessions, as well as for group."

"Whoa." Harry said, finding his voice. "Group? You mean, with other people? I don't want to see anyone. I'm not ready…"

"Currently, there is one other student in our program. He is in much the same situation as you, although a bit further along in his recovery. He'll be travelling here after he's discharged from St. Mungos later tonight. I think you'll find that you can help each other in this process and keep each other accountable. I've worked with him closely over the past months, and I think you will get along well, if you can concentrate on your similarities, rather than your past differences."

"What the hell does that mean?" Harry's voice was starting to rise. He felt like an idiot. How could he have thought this man was going to help him? Tears stung his eyes. Trust had never gotten him anywhere, and this was just more proof.

"Harry, I would not do anything I thought would harm you further. I need you to trust me, and trust that I know what I'm doing." Healer August remained calm.

"Who is it?" Harry's voice shook. He didn't know if he wanted to find out. There was only one person with whom "past differences" could be a big problem. One person in the world who he knew he could never get along with.

Healer August took in the boy's apprehension, and calmly responded:"I believe you are familiar with Draco Malfoy?"


End file.
